Five Arabian Nights
by NarayanK
Summary: Due to a freak incident involving a bomb terrorism, Jaune loses his consciousness. In an unknown dreamworld, he finds himself trekking through peculiar dreams, each one being distinct from one another. The deeper he goes, the more he notices something human about himself.
1. The First Day - Jaune

**_Five Arabian Nights_**

* * *

 _The Five Nights_

 _Once upon a time- a time cast away-_

 _A lonely god lost his way._

 _The memories he cherished_

 _Had become all but bland._

 _The emotions he treasured_

 _Had become all but naught._

 _So one day, on a bright day,_

 _He left the world on a journey_

 _To seek out the feelings that had_

 _Become all but history._

 _He spent five days and five nights_

 _To discover his emotions' plight._

 _Joy, Gloom, Hate, and Love;_

 _The four feelings he had come to long._

 _He first flew to discover joy._

 _The bliss and happiness that brought him a smile_

 _From the childishness he had lost a millennium ago._

 _Though wisdom and courage were needed to survive_

 _To love many things demanded a passionate life._

 _So the god met his joy as happily as he can._

 _As selfishly, as jubilantly, as blissfully as he can._

* * *

 _Chapter 1_

 _The First Day_

* * *

...

 _..._

 _..._

Jaune lay still in the middle of pure white, his light armor battered and dented.

He should feel troubled for his friends, whom he had left behind. He presumed that the afterlife had finally caught up to him. He caused trouble, and his friends had corrected his mistakes and built him to be a better man. But there were some things that a man could not learn with only the help of friends. Some things needed a man's will to surpass his own limits.

But Jaune could not.

And he felt at peace. It felt selfish, but he liked it here. Even though it had been about five minutes since he arrived, his heart calmed to an amazing degree. Everything was still. Nothing would bother him.

But he was not still. Therefore, that meant that something could probably bother him even in the afterlife.

His family would miss him, but Jaune had longed for an extensive rest. He hoped that he did not encounter any bullies or generally heartless souls in wherever he was. Maybe he could use a long, long nap.

"…"

Sitting up from the feathery ground, Jaune took a closer look at his surroundings.

There were no skies. Only an endless amount of clouds surrounded him.

A field of white, purer than his soul could ever be.

The world he sat in felt like an ethereal one. An otherworldly feeling of peace enveloped him. Around him sang the songs of the wind. This world- this world, clearer than any sheet of paper- was not silent, but quiet. For silence was forced, and quiet was natural.

It felt strange. All of a sudden, he felt like casting aside everything that he considered terrifying to him. His forged transcripts, the pressure upon him as an Arc- it all felt as if they slid off his shoulder. It was the best selfish feeling he felt.

And he admired how vast the clouds were. They were all shaped differently, and they completely covered what could have been the skies. They were above and below, next to his sides. He felt as if he could touch the clouds above just by reaching up, but in reality, it was too far for him to touch. The cloud he sat on felt like a puff of cool air and water- strange, but fascinating.

Jaune stood up. He felt enamored by the world around him. He did not want to leave. As selfish as it sounded, it brought him comfort.

Was it wrong to feel selfish?

Jaune walked.

He let his feet carry him across the skyless clouds. No horizon showed up as he ventured into the serene world.

As he walked, he saw something bumping out of the clouds.

He got closer, and he discovered that the bump in the road was tiny child. Like the clouds, she was pitch-white- almost colorless, even. A comforting glow emitted from her entire body, as if she were a firefly that belonged to a dark world placed in the brightest place possible.

Jaune called out to her, and she turned quickly. Her eyes were pitch-blue, and her facial features were that of a child's. A child of the clouds. Jaune could tell she belonged here.

"Hi," he said with a bit of nervousness behind his tone.

The girl stood up, revealing her tiny height. She- or "it," considering Jaune did not know if it had a gender- stood up to his waist. With Jaune in her sight, the humanoid creature floated towards him, her feet staying closely to the ground.

The blond boy saw a mouth open as it turned into an open smile.

She remained still, her eyes shining a blue only the skies had. Jaune blinked as he tilted his head in confusion. And in response, the child of light tilted her head as well, her smile remaining still.

Jaune took a step away from her. She took a step forward.

Jaune raised a hand. She clasped her hand against his.

Her hand felt cool; not cold, but cool. And it had a certain warmth behind it.

"Do you have a name?"

The girl blinked as her open smile turned into a closed one. She softly tilted her head.

The sound of a bell jingling caught the blond off guard.

 _A bell?_

As if to reinforce her point, the girl gently bobbed her head left and right. A bell jingled each time she bobbed her head. Her short hair ever-so-slightly brushed against her bare shoulders. Her simple dress, which was the same bright color of her pitch-white skin, fluttered as the bells rang.

 _Bell._

He decided to call her Bell.

* * *

Bell had a very linear personality. She followed Jaune, glowed happily whenever he rubbed her head, and jingled every now and then. She was joy at its peak manifestation. Jaune found her to be pretty mindless, but delightfully joyful.

Bell did not say a single word, but Jaune could tell she was accustomed to the cloudy world. Every once in a while, she would reach for the ground and pick up a tiny portion of cloud-like foam from the ground. She would then toss it up in the air or eat it without a second thought.

An innocence that he had never seen before, let alone thought of.

The blond could only wonder if the afterlife would remain this peaceful during his presumably eternal stay in the empty and serene world.

Jaune continued to traverse through the cloudy world. Contrary to his beliefs, the world seemed to have a day and a night.

...

...

...

 _First Day - END -_


	2. The First Night - Bell

**_Five Arabian Nights  
_**

* * *

 _Joy made him feel_

 _An innocent selfishness_

 _That harmed no one_

 _But himself._

 _And with his joy he danced_

 _And he danced all night_

 _Under the endless clouds._

 _The horizon of optimism_

 _Crept into his once empty heart_

 _As he danced all night_

 _Under the endless clouds._

 _And when he stopped dancing_

 _The god, filled with satisfaction, smiled_

 _Not out of obligatory terms_

 _But out of true happiness._

 _For he had missed the feeling_

 _Of being truly happy for so long._

 _And he felt so, so happy to feel_

 _That he danced all night_

 _Under the endless clouds._

* * *

 _Chapter 2_

 _The First Night_

* * *

Much to Jaune's surprise, the clouds slowly turned into a pale orange before becoming a deep blue.

As the clouds underwent a slow change of color, the blond boy decided to sit in the middle of the clouds. No matter how far he went, he would not reach to a new destination. Perhaps he really did end up in the afterlife.

For the entire walk, he could not help but keep questioning what made him happy. Why was he joyful even though he had been pried away from his family and friends? Now that he thought about it, the very thought of enjoying isolation from those who cared about him was not selfish, but rather, cruel. How would he, who relied on others to feel happiness, be able to find happiness by himself? The long road of lies and cowardice had served him naught, as he eventually forgot how to bring himself joy.

Had the road become too long for him to turn back?

Jaune stared at the clouds above him. They had begun to move ever-so-slowly, as if to shake off some rust it got due to staying still for the entirety of the day. He lay down, his back resting on the cool embrace of water and air.

But… He remembered a certain dark-haired friend of his telling him not to be too cynical. And perhaps Lie Ren was right; Jaune might have been too cynical. But how?

He remembered a red-haired friend of his telling him to be hopeful. Jaune did not know what hope felt like; it had become nothing but a word pasted into a dictionary for him. As the pressure of leading a group of warriors to face against monsters fell upon his shoulders, he felt his humanity deteriorating. He felt the hopes of living to have less value than he thought it did.

He remembered an orange-haired friend of his telling him to move on.

Move on.

To move on was like ignoring the speed limit on a highway filled with obstacles. There were consequences for moving on, and he had so little courage to do it by himself. He relied on his comrades and friends far too much to become brave on his own. Everything he did was caused by his friends.

But…

But…

 _But…_

But no matter how many times his friends pushed him through hard times, there had to be a reason why he moved on. No matter how reliant he was, there had to be something he did to march so far into the long road he traversed on for so many years.

He was the one who accepted their advice. He was the one who chose to lead them all. He was the one who decided to trust them, and he was the one who aspired to become not a man of simple honor, but someone he could truly be. He was the one who chose to take risks in a risk-filled world, and he had survived on the long run.

He had courage; he had value. He had trust; he had worth.

Jaune blanked out as he delved deeper into his train of thoughts. It all rushed into his head like a furious river, and it slowly calmed itself down as he understood more about what he felt about himself.

If… he was once a coward, then he had changed. If he was once a man with no backbone, then he had built one by deciding to trust people. In the end, his own acceptance to learn how to become a brave leader was the reason why his teammates seemed so perfect to him.

And he had just found out about it in the empty afterlife.

A single laugh emerged from him. He felt so happy; that even if it took long for him to realize, he had finally confronted a question he endlessly asked himself with an answer. Even if it was not the perfect answer… and even if it was not the flawless solution…

In the end, he himself held the key to the legion of emotional locks placed over his own honesty.

Jaune smiled. It was not too late; he at least found out his silly problem in a world where he could think clearly.

The sound of a bell ringing brought him back to the cloudy world.

The blond sat up from the soft, feathery surface as he watched the child of light skip around in circles from a distance. In the night, she brought a beautiful light with her effervescent smile and happy demeanor. Every time she laughed, no voice expressed her mindless joy; the jingle of a bell came out instead.

Jaune watched the child of light in awe. For she revealed that her arms were actually wings! Bright feathers gently floated through the wind as each and every one of them glowed. The once dark clouds Jaune had been observing seemed to become brighter as they passed by him. She laughed again, and the clouds seemed to become warmer as she continued to laugh.

The blond knight blinked. Then, a smile came across his once startled look.

Bell danced and danced, her bright blue eyes shining. The joyful child seemed to be far happier. He wondered if it was because of his own realization of joy.

The blond knight's laughed as the girl's dance became more and more playful. The clouds seemed to agree with her joy, as the feathers that filled the air slowly rose into the puffs of blue air. The fervency of happiness.

It truly was a beautiful thing.

...

...

...

 _The First Night –END-_


	3. The Second Day - Fruitless

_**Five Arabian Nights**_

* * *

 _Then, filled with the bliss of his past_

 _The god ventured to the darker side_

 _Of the memories and emotions he held_

 _That had left others aghast._

 _He confronted his sorrow_

 _And it believed in no tomorrow_

 _For as long as it remained_

 _It cannot be contained._

 _The god then wondered what he could do_

 _To find a cure that can make his sadness a cure_

 _To all the bad and good things that made him careless_

 _And to all the hopeless thoughts that had once plagued him._

* * *

 _Chapter 3_

 _The Second Day_

* * *

Jaune walked down the puffy clouds, Bell floating next to him.

After walking down the endless clouds for what he felt could be several hours, he found that the clouds had begun to fade, transitioning into a completely pitch-white area. As his feet approached the area, he felt the ground to finally feel like a solid terrain. Bell pointed at the house and began to mindlessly run towards it. Jaune managed to stop her by simply raising a hand in front of her face.

The girl bumped into it, letting out a gentle jingle of a bell as she staggered a bit. Her confused expression made Jaune explain,

"I'll go in first."

He did not know whether Bell understood, but she let out a jingle once more as she made an open smile.

The child of light followed Jaune a bit more before coming to a halt. She floated in place, watching Jaune ventured into the large house.

The house looked like a mansion on the verge of breaking apart. Though he could not put a finger on it, something about the structure of the old mansion seemed… dreamless. Unlike the many clouds he passed by, the mansion held only a silent air, unlike the quiet serenity the clouds had.

Jaune gulped and took a small flight of stairs to the entrance. He turned to see if Bell was still nearby.

His body stiffened as he noticed his surroundings changed in an instant.

No longer were there the peaceful clouds far away from him. Behind him were dozens of tombstones, each and every one of them with no owner. A couple of bare trees stood by where he had once walked through.

There was a dark sky above him. No sun gazed to his direction, yet there was a bit of light for him to see throughout the dark fields. Just a bit. The only bright thing in the mansion was Bell, who floated in front of a closed gate.

The child of light smiled and waved at him, letting out a couple of consecutive jingles.

Jaune gulped as he turned to the mansion's direction again.

After a minute's worth of hesitation, he walked into the mansion.

* * *

Though he left the door open on purpose, it closed itself on its own. Jaune found a single lit candle sitting on a small table placed against a wall. A painting was placed above the candle, showing a family of nine. A father, a mother, and six happy children smiled at the painting. But only one child did not smile. A small frown and a tiny lilum candidum was all she brought to the painting.

Jaune stood still for a brief moment before walking over to the candle. He reached out to pick it up, only to knock something he had not noticed earlier. The blond blinked and picked the small mirror he had knocked over.

He raised it to take a look at himself, only to find the door behind him being reflected instead.

Weirded out by the thing he just picked up, Jaune looked down and made sure his body was still intact. Strange; the mirror did not seem to show his body.

He decided to pick it up anyway.

With a mirror and candle in his hands, Jaune looked left and right. There was a door to his left and a staircase on his right.

Jaune decided to go up the stairs.

Mirror, mirror in Jaune's hands, who did he think he was to invade a house? Alas, this was the afterlife. Jaune knew he had little to lose if he truly was dead. Step-by-step, he approached the next floor of the mansion.

Above the first floor was a very wide room- much wider than the first, actually. In fact, it was so vast, Jaune questioned whether the size of the interior matched the mansion's outer appearance. The blond looked back to see the staircase, and he suddenly realized that the stairs behind him had become endlessly long. Strange.

Strange, considering how short the stairs seemed, at first.

A small table sat in the middle of the room, a black phone resting on top of it. Next to the phone lay a poorly drawn picture of the family from the painting. It looked like the work of a child.

Jaune walked over to the phone, looking around the strangely large room. The sound of wood creaking underneath his feet made him tenser and tenser as he approached the black phone. It seemed to be… an old device from an old generation.

A step closer to the phone. Jaune jumped when it suddenly rang.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And sighed.

The phone… sighed? Jaune took one more step closer to the small table, only to find it ringing like usual again.

The blond knight reached out for the phone. Slowly picking the device up, Jaune took a deep breath and held it by his head. There had to be a reason why a phone would be able to ring, and seeing how he could not go back to anywhere other than the mansion, he decided to see where the afterlife would bring him to.

"…"

Jaune waited for something to come out of the phone.

"…"

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

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The sound of liquid dripping froze the knight.

Drip, drip, drip. Something dripped from somewhere, but it was definitely not within the room itself. Jaune's eyes darted around the walls surrounding him. His efforts to discover the source of the noise were in vain, as he found nothing but walls and walls and walls and walls.

The sound of liquid dripping continued to emit from the phone.

Something was in the room, and Jaune did not know what it was.

Now that he thought about it, the phone did not have a cord; it seemed to work on its own. Jaune glanced at the picture on the table to see if there was some sort of message he could get from the dripping liquid noises, but nothing appeared.

Then he noticed the air near his ear felt moist. And that ear happened to be the one with a phone hovering right next to it.

Jaune slowly pulled the phone away from his ear as he took a good look at the object he just held.

He certainly was carrying a phone. And now that he took another look at the phone, it certainly made sense as to why he heard liquid dripping- no, _pouring_ from the phone.

Red liquids poured out of several holes from the phone. And as Jaune squinted out of both disgust and curiosity, his eyes widened when he found an eye staring at him behind one of the holes. It stared at _him_ , its bloodshot texture failing to deceive Jaune that he was looking at a real human's eye.

Jaune dropped the phone, and a small trickle of blood briefly spewed into the air before residing. The blond knight turned to the poorly picture, which now had every family members crying towards the skies, as if asking their makers about some sort of tragedy that fell upon them. All but one girl cried to the skies.

The girl- the smallest of them all- looked at Jaune's direction, staring at him with the two gaping holes she had. For it seemed that her eyes were all but a part of her.

Frightened, Jaune turned and ran to the stairs' direction. The sound of a blast of liquids boomed behind him. The blond knight turned to where he dropped the phone, only to find a flood of blood roaring towards him. Eight figures completely covered in blood crawled towards him, their eyes bloodshot and filled with nothing but sorrow. Jaune screamed as he ran down the stairs.

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These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. These stairs. Th̴e̢se ̧s͝t͜a͘i͢r̛s. ̀T̕hes͜e̛ s̶t̸a̶įŗs͠. Tḩe̶s͢e͏ ͘st͠ai̶rs. The͞se͟ ͝s̶ta͝irs̕. ̧The̴śe͜ s͝t̛airş. These stai̶rs. T̛h̡e͢s͡e ̛stai̡rs. ͢T̴h́e̛se ̕st͝ai͠rs͢. Th͠es̵e ̛st҉a͝i͢r̢s. Ţhes̵e s̴tài͜r̕s̕.͠ The̛se̢ ̧sta͘i̴r̵s.͞ ̡T͘h͏ese̶ ̸s̛tairs̢.͝ ͝Th̨es̶e st͢a̴i̶rs̛. ̢These ̀s͜ta̕ir̛s҉.͠ Th͠ese̢ st́a͏ir̀s. ҉Th̵ese stair̴s͢.͠ T҉h̢e͜se s̸t̶ai͏r̶s.̵ Th҉es͞e stai̧rs͘.̢ ̀These͠ stai̢r̛s̕.̢ ͟T͡he͏s͞e͡ s͞tąiŕs.͘ ͞The̴s͝e s̡tair̛s.̸ ̧T͞he̷s̀e ̸s̷ta̛i͏r͏s͘. ̶T̢he҉se st̕a͟i̡rs. ̵T͢hes̵e sta͡i͟rs.͠ Ţhese̛ sta̶i͘r͞s. T̵hese stai͘rs. T͡he͡se̵ ̷sta̸i͟rs͏. ͘Thes̸e͠ ͜st́airs.͠ ̡T͟h͡e̵s͟e̡ şt̛airs͞.́ T͢he̷s̸e͝ ̶s̛t҉a̷i̷ŗs.̡ Thęse̷ ̷s̵ta̴įrs. The͜sę ̸sta̡ir҉s҉.͝ ͟The͡şe̶ ̕s͡t̛ai͢ŕs͏. ͝T́he͡s̵e̡ ̨st̷a̢i̢rs.͜ These ͏s̢t̨airs̀. T̸h͘ęs͟ę stair̶s͡.̴ T̛hes͡e stąi̧rs͞.̵ Th̕esę s̢tai͝rs͟.́ ̛T͏heśe sta͟irs. Th̢ese stairs.̀ ̸T͘h̨esȩ ͠s͡ta̶ir̷s̨.̢ ̸T̷he͟se͝ stairs͡. ́T͜h̨ese s͏t̛aįr͝s.̶ ͢T͠he̴sę ͢s̢t̨air̷s̶. ͜T҉hese ̶şt̕a͏i̸ŕs̵. ̛Thes̷e̶ ͝s̕t̨ai̛r͠s̶.͜ Thes͡e͠ ̨stair̛s.̶ ̴T̷h͡es͝e͝ s̸ta̷i̧r͟s͡. T͟h́ese͏ s҉tairś. Thes͜e̛ ́s̕t̸airs̵.̀ T́h̕e͏se stai͞r҉s. T͟he͘se͜ ̛s̀ta͢irs.͡ Th͡e̕s͏e͢ ̷stąirs.͡ The͏se̢ ͏stąi̧rs.͜ ҉Th͞es͜e͡ ̵st̡a҉i̶r͠s̕. ̨Ţhès̡ę s͏tairs.̧ ̧Th͡e͟se sta̕i҉rs. ͏These ͠stai̴r̷s.͠ ̵Th̛e͞se̡ s̨t̵ąirs.̀ Th͡e̛s̨e͟ ̀s͟t͟a͡irş. ͏The̕se st͞ai͏r̛ś.̡ ͏Ţh̕e͞s̨e s͟t҉ai͜r͘s. ͜Thes̸e s͘t̡ai͡r̸s. ͟T́h͜e҉sé s̡ta͝ir̶s. ̀Thes̢e sta͘irś.͠ _T̡h̨es͞e ̷stai̛r͟ś.̷ T͜he̕se̕ ̕s͜tai͡r̷s͘.̨ Th͘es̸e ́s̨tai͜rs. T͞h̷es͠e͘ sta͘i͏rs̛.͏ ̵Th҉e͞se ͞stair̛s. T͠he͜se stai̕rs.͘ T̨h͡es͏e s̕t̛a͢ir̢s.̢ ̀T͜h̛e̵se ́s̛t̵air̵s. T́h͢e̡se ͡sta͡ír̨ś. Th̀e͞s̸e͏ ͠st҉áirs.͝ Th̕ese̡ stair̶s͟.͜ ̵Theśę s̴tai͟ŗs. ͝Th̨ese śţa͜ir͘s.̴ **Th͢e͟se ̴s͝t̛a̛irs. ҉The͝şe͝ ̨s̨tair҉s.̛ ̀These s͞t͟a̡ir͏s̛. ̛T͜h̵ȩse̴ s̕ta͠i͟r͘s̴. ́T̡h͏e͠se sta̡ir̨s̷.͠ T͟ḩe͢s҉e͞ sta̷ir̷s. T͢hese̴ s̕t̕airs͞.͏ ̸T̀h̛e̢se ̛stąir̕s. Th̷és҉e stai̶rs̵.̴ ͏T͝he̶s̕e st͘ąir͘s͘.͡ ̀Th̸e͟śe ͢s͘t͘airs. ͜T͡he̡se ͝st͜ai̴rs͜. Thes̛e sta͘ìŕs.**_ **T̕͏h̛͞ęś̛͏è͝ ̛s҉t̢́̕ai͡r̶̢s͟͡.͞ ̨͠The̵̶ś̷̛e s͞t̵̡a͘͟ir̶̷͟s̛͞.҉ ̸͝T̴̕͜h̴e̛s̸e͏ ͟s̕҉͢t̕a͞ir͟ś̶. T̴̕͢h͜è͘śe ͘͜͠s͏͡t̷aí̧̀r̢҉s̛.̧ ͢͝T̸̴h́e̶͢s̷è ̨́s̴ţa͜҉̕í̡͞r̛͘s̶̕͟.҉ ͞͝Th̢͜͏e̸s̛͞e ̧́͘s̸͠t̶͜a̴i̕͜r͠s̴̛. T͜҉h͡e̵̕͝s̡̢è͟ ̀st͝a͢irş̡̛.̧̧̛ ̵̸͡Th͝e̸sè͠ ̷̴̀st̸͏́a̸i̵͟͜r̷s͟.̛ ͏͟T̷̀h҉e̕҉s͟e͟ ̵̧s̷͜ta̵̷i͠͏́r̴s̴̸̛.̴̕ ̴̀T̵͠h̸͠e҉s͢҉e̴҉҉ s̛t͏̸͟ai̸̴͢r̸̕s.̀҉ ̵͟T̢h̶͟e͞s̕e̡ ́͟s͠tài͟͢ŗ͝s͝͏.̵̧ ̛͡͞Ţhȩs͜e͘ ̛ş͞ta҉i͡rs̀͞. ̴̛́T̡h̸̕͞ȩ́̕se̷̷ ͏s̨̀t͞ai͏̧r̵ś̕.͘͝ ͝͝T̡͜͢h̢͡ę͏se̷̕͞ ̡̨͠s͟tài҉̛rs̷̀.͏̴ T̀͜h̡̛͠e͟se̴ ̕͏s̵̛̛t̸a͘͡í͟͢ŗ͘s͞.̴ T̵́h҉̕e̢se҉ ̴̶stài̢͏ŕ҉s̵. ́͜T́͠h̵̢͠ę̸͡s͏̕͟ȩ͞ st̵̸á̶̡i̛͠͏rs̴͡͡.͞͏͘ ̵͘T͠h́es̨e s̷t҉a̢͠i͏̴r̵̢s̶. ̸T̴͢h̸̛͞e͟s̵e͏̨͠ ̨͝s͜t҉͡a̸i̢rs͟.̶ ҉Th̢e̡͟͟s҉̀͝ę ̶͜staiŕ̶s̢. Th̢e̕͝s͢͡e͏͜ ̧́͡s̴̵t̴̢̕a͞ìr̡̡s̛.́ T͜he̶sé̢͢ s̶͢t̛͞͡ai̷̡͞r̢s̀̕.̛̛͜ T̡h̢̕e̶s̴͢͠e̢͟ ̛s̨͞ta͘ir҉s҉̵.̸ Ţ̸͡h̡́é̸͝se̢͢͡ ̵̶s̀͏̀t͞a͟͏i̴͟͞r̷s̵.͜ ̨T́h̶e̷͏s̡͜e̶̵̵ ̡s͢taì̵͢r͠s̨. ̷͞T͠h̀e̷͏ś̸̛e̸ ́s͟͟t̛͜͜a̴͘į͠r͢͡s̢͞.͏͢ T̴h̶͠e̛͢͡s̶e͏͏͠ ҉̵́stąi̵r̴̨s͘. ͝T͘h̨e̛͘s̵e̡ ͠͝st̶͠a̧̧iŕ̀s͏.҉͝ ̧҉T͟͞he҉̧͝s̶͢e ̕ş̷t̀á̵̷i͡r҉s.̷̸͠ ̛͘Ţhes͏e͟ s̢͘t̨̧͢à҉͡irś.́҉́ ̀͝T̷ḩ͜e̴͟͢s̵̡̡e ͜s̨͝t̵̶͜a͘͞i̶̶rs͠.͞ ̵̸Ţ͝h̢è̴s҉̢ȩ̨ ̢s͠t̴̀ai̴̢r̵̴̨s̷͡.҉́ T͟͞h̛́͝e̸̵sè̡҉ s҉҉t̴͜a͏҉͠i̢͝rs̷.̸͟ ͜͢T̢h̕҉e̛s̛͟e͢ ͘stąi͘͞r̸͢͜s̡̀͠.͟ T̵͜͡h̀͜ȩ̕s̢ę͞ ͝sta̶̸į͘r҉̸͘s̕͠.̧͏ ̸Th͏e̷s͞e҉̴͠ ̕s̸͘ţ͝ą͟i̸̢̡ŕs̷͟.̡ ҉́̕T͡h͟è͡se̷̕͝ ̵̸̨s͞t͠҉̕a͝i̢͟r͘s̶̕͢. ̷̛͢T̶h̸è͝s̵̴ę̵ ̸̨͞s̕ta͢i̶̧r͜s̛̕͡. ̷͢T̢̀̀h̡̀e͡s̨͠͠e̢ ̕s҉tą̷̛i̷͡r̶s̕. ̶́Ţh̕͢͟è̛͞s͡e ̨̕͡s̀t͏a̶ì̴̴r͝s҉̷.̀ ̷͢͝Th́͝e̷̸͢s̸̕̕e ̵͡͞s̸͜tà̢į͘r͝͡s͟.͘ ̡́T͟͠h̵͠e͞͝s̵e͏͜ ́stą̀i͝r̴s͝. ̴̢T̶h̕e͝s̕͜͜e̴ ̢̨s͝t͞a̧̕i̸͟͠r̡s҉.̛͞ ͢͏Th҉̷̡es͏̸e̷̴̕ ͠s͟t̵̛̀a͠ir̢s.̢̡̛ ̨̧͢T̸͞h̢͝ę̶͠s͏è͡ ̶̴̧ş̨͏t͝ai҉̡́r̢͏s̨.̀ T̷̷h͘e̛ś͡e̷ ̵̧͞ś̢̕ţa̸͠i̡͜r͘͜s̛̕. T͟͝h̨es̴̸͝è ̵́͝s͞t́ą̛͘ir̴̸҉s̢͝.͏̵ T̷͏h̶́eşe͝ ҉́s̛t̨a̕̕͜į͜ŕs͠.̵͠͏ ̕͡T̸h̷͏es̛͡e̴̵̢ ̷̕s̕͢t̶̨̛ài̴r͠s̕͡.̸̨͠ ̵T҉h͏e̴͡s͠͏ę ̶̢̕st̢ai͘҉r̵s̶͝͝. ̶̵͜T̢he̵s̸e ̧s̡͏͏t͞a̢irs̵.́͏̨ ͝T͡h̀͟͝e̷͢͜s͜͠e s̢̨͞t͢͝a̧i̢r͏҉s.̧̢́ T̕͡he͝s̸̀e̕ s͜ta̵͠i҉r͘͢s͝.̧́ ́T̛h̴̀e͟͠s̷̢e҉̡́ ̡͡st̶̢̡a̶̶̛i̢̕rs̸̀͘.̧͟҉ T̛͟͜h̵͞e̶s͠ę̸̡ ͢͜sţ̛aì͠͡r̴s̶.͜ ̕T̵he͢͞s͟e̡͘ ş͡t̕͞a͟͠ir̵̀s̵͘.҉̀͡ T̸h̷͟e͘͠͠s̶e s̛̕͠t̢a̡̛ír̶͟͝ś̸́. ̵Ţ͜h̀ęse̴̴ ̨st̡̢͞a̡i͘r̸s̶̨͝.̧́ ̵͟Th̸ȩs̷e ̷̶s̶t̸a͏̛͝ir͡ś͟.̵͠ ͟T͝he̢͞s̡̨e ̷s̀t̛́a͏i͝҉́r̀͟ş͜͡. ̴̡̕T́̕̕h̢͜ese͝ ͝sta̴i͠͏҉ŕś̛.͜͜͢ ͟T̴͞h́e͠͏s̷̡̢e̸҉ ͠s̴̀ţ̡a̴̧͢i̡͟r͘s̸̀͟.̵ ̸̧͟T̸҉̀h̶̕͞e̴͢͟ş́e͘ ̴s̨tai͞rs.͞ ͝͡Ţh͏e̢s̵͝͝e̵̡ ̷͡s͡҉t̡͡͏a̧̕ì̷͡r̡s̕͠͞.̡͜ ̵T҉̕h́͘͡e̡͟s͜͏͠e̴ ͡s͘tai͡r̷̢s̸͠.͟͝ ͝T̢͘he̛̕ş̶ę̵͝ s̴t͏́a̢̛͏í͜r̢s. ͢Ţ͟h̡͜e̵̡se̷ ͟͡͠st̨a͡í̷͘rs.̶̴͜ ̨T̵̕h̡̀è̢̢s̛҉e̴͜ ̷͝s̵̢ta̵i͘͞r͘͘̕s͘. ̴̧͝T́͝h͞e̸͢͡ś̷e̷̡ ̶͟s҉t͢ai͢r̴҉̷s̢͢.̵͟͝ ̴̢̧T҉̡h̵͞eş͡e҉͞ s͞ţ̸aìr͠͠s̡͜.̶̛ ̛̀͠T̨͏̷h̕ęsȩ͟ ̶͜st̴̴a̧i̢r̷͟s̨͏. T̨̨́he̴͝s̡e̢ ̴͞s҉̕t̴̕͞a̵̕i͜͝rś̸.͢͏ ̷̢͜T̷̕ḩ͝e͘͢s̶̴e͢ ̸͜s̵̷t̡á̵įr̶̡s̶̕.̵͝ T̢h̶͢ese̵ s͏͟͏t҉̸a̢͞i̡ŕs͢҉. ̧́͡Th̴́͢eś̕e͡ ̀s͏͞ta̵ir͞s̵͢.̶ ̢͡Th̴e͠s̡̀ȩ͡ ̀ś͢ta̸i̷̧r͟s͞.̛͠ T͏̡hȩ͢s̷̸̵e̶̕ ͘͡s̴͡taì̕͡r̴s҉̀.̨ ҉T̛hésȩ ͜͠s̴͞͝ta͘ir̶̛ş.̴҉ ̷T̢hȩ̶s̢̕e ͞st͢ai̷̵̶ŕ̷s.̢̨ ̢͢T͜͟͠h͘é͞ş̨҉e͟ ͞͏st́͠҉á͠i͏̵r̢s̕͏.̸͜͠ Ţh̶e̡̛͡s̕e̛͘͡ ͠s͢ţ͘͜á̢̧i̛͢r͞s̷.̨̡ ̴T͘h̵e̶s̢ȩ̛ ́s͏t̨̡à̧į̵rs.͠͏ ̨͢͠Ţ̴͘h͞͝e̷̷͝śe͡ st̢a̷̛͠į͢r̛҉s̶.͘ ̡͝T҉̧h̛̀e̵s͘҉͝è s͜t͜͡a̸҉̶įr̀s̷̨͜.͟ ̨͝Th͡͠e͢͝s͘e̶ ̡͟s͡t͜a̵͜͞i͜͝͞ŗ̨s͠.̸͠ ̢̀T͟he͏̵́se ̕͠s̵͘tą̸̸i̶͟͡r̕s̴̢.̴̕͝ T̶͜h̛͢e̸s̡͟͞ȩ̨ ҉s̴t͢a͝ir̡s̡.͜͡ ͞T̛͞͡h̢͡e̢͢s͏e ̷́s̵̀ta̸ir̸͝s̷̡.̢͝ T̸̡he̵͢se ͞s̵̀t͠҉a̷̵i̶ŕ̴̕s̸̶.̷̕͝ ̵́́Th͏e̛͠s͞ę ̴s͟t̨͢͟ą́͝ír͘͜s. ͡T̨͘ḩ̢͡e̷s͝e͝ ̵͢s̡͜t̶a̢͜i͟r̶̢͞s̀.̷͜ ̷͠T͞h̵̷e͜͡s͘é ͠s̕t̵̵a͜i̴̸r̷̵s.͠ ͘T̴̢̛h͜ę̕s̀e s̷ta̴̧̧i͜͞rs̨.̨̢ ̀T̡͘he̛͞s̶é͝ ̧͞st́͏a͏̴́ìŗ̨͞s͠.̧ ̢͘͞T҉h̴e͏̶͟ş̕e͝ ̨͟s͢҉t͟a͘͜i͡rs̕.̧̢ ̛̛T̕h̸͜͟e̕s͢e̵ ̴͡sta̵i̴̸r͠s͞͝.̛ ̷T̀ḩè̷͢se͠ ҉st͜͡à̴irs̸͠.̢͟ ̨͟T̨͟h̶e̷s̴̨e̶ ̵̢͠s͏͏̢t̸a̸̴̸i̴̕͞r͜͞͝ş́.̴̛͠ ̀̕T̛͡he̛̕͝ş́e͠ ͠s͞tai͝r̶̕s̨.̶͜ ̡̢T̵̛h̷̵͝e̸͡s̸e͝ ͠s͜͟t̢͘҉a̸͟͏įrs̡͘.͘ T͢he͜͟sȩ̧ s͘͜t̸̶a̸҉ì͝r̵͠s̨.̧ ̴̴T̛h̶e҉̷s̛͢͢e̷ ͞st͘a͏į͠ŗ͘s̷̸̕.̡ ͠Th̨͠͏ȩ͘s̸ȩ̛ ̶̵̢st̕ai͢͏r̡͡s̀͟͞.͝͝ ̛͘͞T̶͢h̕͝é͞s̵̨e̴̕͠ ̵̷s͘t̴a͡͞ir͝s̵͢.̡ ̴͟T̕͞͠h͏́eś͡ȩ̕ ̷s͢͜t̸̛ą҉͝i͢r̵͠s̷.͏ ̷̧T̸̶h̸́e̛͟se̵͡͞ ̧͡st̴͜á̷̢į͝r̵s. ̡T̶͞hès̸̸̛e̡͘ s̶t̡a̵̶̢ir̵̀s̸͟͟.̴͜ ́T̛͜h̛́es̵̨̛e ͏s̵̸ta̢i͡͡҉r̢s̶̶.͏̵͢ ̵͘T͡h̢͡e̸͟s͠e̢͏ s҉́͠t͜ai͟͡r̛͜s. ͞T̷̡h͟͢e҉҉śè ̀͡s҉̀t̷̴a̕i̧͡r͢s̸͡. ͠Th̡͡͞e͝s̸e̴ ̶́s̢t̶ąir̶s. ̴T̀h̶̶̢e͞s҉̨̢e͟ ̶̨͟s̵̡͢t̶̕͞aì͡͡ŕs͠.̕ ̴͏̴T̷h̸́e̵̕͟s̕͢e̶̛̕ ̸͡͞st̵͝ái̵r̷̷s͝.͞͝ ̸͢T҉h͞e̵͞sé͢ ̴s͡ta̷͘͠i̵̡̕r̷̛̀s. ̨́Th̨͝e͜sę̴̕ s͟͞t̷͡a͟͞į̢r̶̡͢s.̡͘͝ ̨͘T͜h̛es̸e͞ ̸s̢͘ta̶i̕r̀s̀̀͠.̵̵ T̴ḩ̴͠e͢͝se ́s̡̡t̕͢a͢i̧r̵̵̛s̶̨.͜ ̀T͝h̢̛͝ę̵͟s҉̸è̡ ̢͟s̢̕t̢͠a̵į́r̀͠ş͘͏.̶́ ̸̨̕T҉҉h̢͟e͠s̡̛e ͜s̕ta̷͘ir̕̕s͞. ҉̨̀T͟͜͝h̶e͟͜s͢͡ę ̨s͜t̢͜a̴̛iŗ̛͡ś̢.͜͟ ̢̀̕T͜͞h̢̀e̸̶͢s̢e҉͠ ̷̢s͠t͏air̨s. T̸̢h̴e͝͞s̵̕e͡ ͠s͠͡t̢ài̸͘͡r̢͠s͢͏͢. ̢͜T̴̀́h͝e͠s̛e̢ ̢s̢̡t͡a̛͝ìr͢s͢.̵ ͘͜T̴͞h̨͜͡e͘s͜͞e ̸s͠ţ̷͞à͡i̵̴͢r̸̕s̴͝. ͟͝T͟h҉e̵͏͡s̀e͢ ̀͘s̵t̵̛̀a̴ì̷rs.̡͞ ̡́͢T̴h̀̕͠e̡̢͡s҉e͢ ̸̴̛s̢͏̛t͞ai̧̛r͘͡s̡̕. ͟͞T͝h͏es̨͠e ̶̶̧s҉҉ta͠i͏r͠s̡. ҉T́͡h͘҉es͟e̷ ̷́͜s͘t̵͝a̸i͏̷ŕ̷̀ş̕. ͘͞T̀͡͡h̡e͢s̶̀͟e̸͞ ̷̧́s̷͟t̡̧͏à҉i̶̧r̴s̴.́͝ ̵̕T̀̕h̶͡͠e̶s̨͘e̶̛͢ ́s͝t̡ai̡͜r̶̡s. ̵T͡h͝ęs̀͟e͝ s͞͏t͠҉͡a̷i̷͜rs̸̛.̶ ̸Ţ̧h̴҉è͢ś̴͢è̡ ̵͠st͠͞a̵į͜͏ŗs̸.̶ ͘͝T̸͞h͞é̢͜s͟͞e̢̧ ̴̷s̨҉t̸̷a̶i҉r̸̢͟s̴̛͟.͞ Th͡e̶͠s̢e s̸ta͏̀i̶͟r̛͘͡s͜͝͝.͘͘͞ ̕T̵͜h̕e҉s͝ȩ ͘s̷̡ta̷̸í͞r̡̢s̕͟.̛̛ T͘ḩ̀e͘͢͡s͠e s͏͘t͘͝a̧̢͡i̵͝rş.̢͞ ̸̸̨Th̷̷͠e͝͞s̸̢e̛͟ s͟t̢ài̡̕r̵ş. ̶T̶h̡҉͞e̸͜se̸͜͞ ҉s҉t̀a͟͡i̢rs.̷ ͡͡T̸͟͏h҉e͝͏s͢e st̴̶͏ą̷i͏r̷͘҉s͡͞.̶̧͝ T̴̡̕h̴͡e̷̛s̛̕e̷ ̵͡s̕t͢air͟͢s. ͘Th҉e҉́s̕͡è̵͜ ҉͏͠s̷ta̵͢į͢r̴s̨.͘ ҉T̴͝h̸̢͠e҉͞s͏͟e͜͜ ̴s͏tai̢͡r̵ś̨. ̸T͏h̴͘͠ę̛̛s͟e̴ ́͞śt̷́͞a͘͝i͠r̡͡ş͡. ͜͠͝T҉͡h̨e̶̕s͘͟e s͝t͝ą̕ir̴̡͠s. ̡T̡͘h͞͡e̡͠s̢̢e͠ ͢͞s̵̀t̸́ai̧r̵s͜͞.͟͝ ̛͞T̷̛͘h̡̨es͘͘͡e ͡s̸t̛͘̕a͘iŗs҉.͏̸ ͏̴T́͠h͞é͜͝s͢͝e̴ ̡s̵͏t҉͝air̡̕s̷͘͜.͢ T̀͜h̡e̡s̡é͡ s̷̀͠t͜a̵iŗ́͝s҉̸̢.̷ Ţ̀͝he̷͢s͟e͡͏ ̵s̵ţai͝͞͞rs̛̀͡. T̛h̶͢e̢͘҉s̷ę͘͝ ̧͝͏s͘҉t͘a̢҉ir̶̛͟ś̸̢.̵ ̶͞T͝h҉͜e͝͡ş̶̴e ́st̴̵a̢͟ir̵͜͡s̴͝.̴ ̸̧͡T͏ḩe̕҉ş̛̕e ̵͜s̨ţ͠ai̵̧r̴̨s. ̶̡Thé́ş͜e ̵́̀s̵͜t̵á̴͜ir͠s̶.̴̕ ̷͠Ţ͠he̛s̨̧e̡ s̶̶͞tąi̶̕r͜s.̡ ̷̴Th̢eş͜͝e̕ s̷t͞͡a͘i̶r͢҉͡s̀͡.͢ Th̨̧ę̶̕ś̸e͠ ś̷t̕a͘҉͞i̧͟r̴͠s͟.̢͟ ͢T̶͜h̴e̡͠s̷͡e̷ ̧st̷̢ai͟rs͏.́ ͏T̴̕h͘͢e͠śe ̷́st̸a̶͡i̵r̢̀̀ś̨. ̡T̸̛͘h̢e͞s̷̢̡e̡ ̴̢͏ś̕tá̡i͘ŗ̨͝s̢͠.́ T̶̡h͟e͘͟s̕҉e ͏s̸͟҉ta̛i̢r̵s͏.̶ ̡T҉̴h̷es͏e҉ ̧s̵̶̀ţ͜a̧i͢ŗs̢͟.͟͠͡ ͞T̴̷̢h̡̧̧e͠se̵ ̴s͠ta̴̕i͡r͟͞ś̴.͝ ̀Th̶͜é̸s̛e ̴́s͜҉t͏͘a̸i̸r̷̶s.̷҉ ̴͢T̨h̴́ȩse̷͡ ͟͟s̶͘t̨̀͝a͘͘͢i̶r҉̛́ş̶.̸̸̸ ̡̢Ţ͡h҉e̸ş҉e s̴̨t̶͜aì̷͘r̵s̵̨.̧́͝**

These awfully long stairs.

The screaming. The screaming would not stop. Those screams. The screams that echoed out of pain, agony, and devoid of hope and joy. Everything wrong- he felt everything wrong about their pain, yet he did not know what it was. And he could not help them because they wanted to share their tragedy.

The stairs would not stop. The screams would not stop. The pain-filled screams. The agonizingly endless stairs. They just. Would. Not. Stop.

The screaming of the eight blood-drenched horrors would not stop. The screams, the stairs, the sorrow. They all convoluted Jaune's mind with nothing but sadness.

They kept on coming, and his hopes in living in peace plummeted. He was filled with dread. Nothing but sorrow over his apparent fate killed all the joy he had.

But did it?

Joy. Joy was waiting for him outside of this damned house! He needed to break out of the hellhole of a house!

At last, as hope gathered up in his heart, the end of the stairs of despair appeared before him. Without a second thought, Jaune ran towards the door on the entrance's left. He took a glimpse at the large painting, but he noticed how only one child stood, alone. The flower in her hands had all of its beautiful petals torn off, each of them floating in where the rest of her family once stood.

With all of his might, the blond tore the door open before slamming it shut. He did everything he could to make sure he locked it, even if he was unfamiliar with how the doors worked. He took deep breaths rapidly, his eyes shut as he pressed his back against the door as hard as he could.

Much to his surprise, nothing slammed against the door.

Wondering if the beings of blood had disappeared, Jaune opened his eyes and looked at the room he was in.

He paled.

His skin turned a deathly pale as he realized the afterlife may not only contain mindless joy and bliss.

…

…

…

 _The Second Day -END-_


	4. The Second Day (2) - Lilium

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _Chapter 4_

 _Second Day (2)_

* * *

A dark-haired figure stood in a corner of the room. Jaune could quickly tell who this was: the painting child. Her long hair covered her tiny body as she sat at the corner's direction. Her figure was shrouded with darkness, but he could see the ragged grey dress she wore.

Her body trembled, her arms hunched to her chest. But that was not the problem.

She was on the other side of the room.

In the middle of the room were two flowers: a lilium candidum and a rose. The two flowers sat on a platform that floated above a pool of eyes, every single one of them staring at Jaune's direction. They blinked when he blinked, they moved when he moved. They were watching him, and he felt fear stiffen his body for a moment.

But perhaps that was what the eyes wanted him to do. Perhaps they wanted to control him by monitoring him, just as many others had done so in the past and present. And he would be a fool to let that happen again.

Taking a deep breath, Jaune stretched his fingers out of nervousness before confronting fear. He took several steps before standing still at the edge of his side of the room. With a moment's worth of second thoughts, Jaune leaped forward, landing on the platform.

A white flower and a red flower.

Purity in two ways.

The innocence and the taking of innocence.

Jaune remembered the flower the girl had held in the painting as he picked the white flower up. And all of a sudden, the rose burst into blood, splattering over his clothes and face. The blond nearly fell off the platform, but he managed to keep his ground. The eyes blinked, waiting for him to fall off, but he did not.

The knight leapt off of the platform, landing on the other side of the room. The moment his feet landed on the ground, he felt his body convulse. It was not a natural convulsion, as he was unable to control his body as his vision became hazy. The ground beneath him morphed into a field of flowers, the petals being the fingers of children. The skies were painted with blue, the clouds seemingly watching Jaune just like the eyes had. And they did watch him. Because he was being monitored.

All the time.

Jaune walked, but the fingers beneath him reached out for him in futile attempts. He walked, and walked, and the fingers reached and reached. Then the pollen opened their eyes as he walked further, and he was soon being watched by a legion of watchers. But Jaune pressed on.

He saw an illusion of a child surrounded by men older than her, each of them plucking off a petal from the lilium candidum she carried. And they walked away, leaving her with nothing but an empty stem. They left her with nothing but a stem.

Just a stem; only the root of her existence. For they had stripped everything precious to her _from her_ _**within her**_. _In_ her. **Her**. Everything _from_ her, everything _for_ her.

Everything she was.

Sadness took over as her world crumbled, and so did Jaune's. For the fingers… The flowers cried, the eyes closed with tears rolling down their stems. The clouds sobbed and cast a gloomy rain over the field, and everything left the girl by herself. No one to monitor her, but nothing to comfort her. What remained of her remained as a hollow shell, neither hope nor jubilance within her any longer.

Overwhelming nothingness. That was true sorrow.

The fields vanished, the skies died, and Jaune found himself in a new room. The eyes were no longer present, for he was now in a pitch-red room. The eight figures that had chased him were hung by their necks, their insides dangling. The men Jaune had seen were also hanging alongside them, and beneath them were the beautiful petals of the lilium candidum.

But what was broken could never be reforged perfectly. The petals had been torn apart beyond repair. Nothing could return it to its natural state. No dark magic could carry over the essence of purity into its original condition.

Jaune gently approached the girl, who remained in the same corner as before. She trembled. She did not look back. She could not look back, for the things that granted her the ability to see had been taken. Her sense of hearing was muffled, for red liquid filled every brim of her ears. Her gift of tasting aromas had been tainted with nothing but disgusting blandness.

Her eyes were hollow, her ears were torn, her tongue was no more. And even then, Jaune did not look away when she turned.

He could not see the beauty of stealing the most precious of things from others. It saddened him to see something beyond his own comprehension, even though he clearly knew that such things existed. His sadness over the world's true colors were the reason why he wanted to become a hero. He wanted to prevent such things from happening because he knew it was wrong to steal, no matter how valuable it seemed. Call him a hypocrite for lying his way into practically everything; no one could deny he was correct.

Just once, he wanted to reach out and be the one to help others up from the utter despair he had once felt.

The blond walked forward, and forward, and forward and forward and forward and… stopped.

He stood in front of the girl, who wondered what part of her would be taken next. Kneeling on one knee, the knight gently wrapped a hand around hers. He softly took a broken flower stem she had been hiding from him and put it next to him. The girl trembled, unable to see where her flower had gone off to. She opened her mouth to say something, and nothing but a soulless whimper came out.

Closing his eyes, the blond knight put a beautifully white flower within the child's hands. And with a determined spirit, he pressed her hands together.

And then a new field sprouted beneath the two. The flowers were pure, each of them sporting neither eye nor finger. The clouds slept in peace, and an eternal blue shined above them. Jaune let his hope overwhelm her despair. Because though sadness could be halted on one's own accord, to vault over it demanded the hopes of others. What drove him to move on? Pride? He had pride, but its origin lay within his trust.

A trust that could be shared to his valuable friends.

A trust that saved him, and that could save others.

The girl remained still. She stopped trembling. With what was left of her body, she lifted the fresh and healthy flower up to her distorted face.

She smelled the flower.

Hope.

Jubilance.

Trust.

Suddenly, the fields expanded, and a warm light shined upon them. Sorrow was undeniably omnipresent, but was joy too lazy to rest within the hearts of others? Jaune believed otherwise. For it was up to people themselves to decide whether they would let others up from the pits of endless despair.

Wealth?

Power?

Honor?

 _Alone…?_

He would never be lumped with those things if an eternal emptiness was all he would be left with.

The girl finally let out her true tears. No longer did the abhorrent red liquid flow out. Jaune remained still as the house faded, and the entirety of his surroundings became a reality.

There was nothing better than being able to cry in absolute happiness.

…

…

…

 _The Second Day (2) -END-_


	5. The Second Night - Aurora

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _Elegant and fragile_

 _His sadness saddened him._

 _He pondered why sadness had to exist_

 _When joy felt all but hurtful._

 _But the more he pondered_

 _The more he realized the beauty of sorrow._

 _Because sadness stems from experience_

 _Sadness teaches how to mature oneself._

 _It purges thoughts of being thoughtless_

 _To the hearts of others around oneself._

 _It makes one realize mistakes_

 _So that improvements could be made to oneself._

 _Sadness led to joy._

 _It was indisputably_

 _The most mature human emotion._

* * *

 _Chapter 5_

 _The Second Night_

* * *

...

...

...

Jaune lay on the fields that covered the once empty world, his eyes set on the night sky.

A wondrous aurora glowed above a cluster of white mountains, stars glittering as if they could spill their bright sweetness. A full moon- not a shattered one- watched over him. And it watched over to the spirits he had met, both who stayed close to where he lay.

The jingling of bells echoed across the world as pristine white feathers filled the night with joy once more. Bell laughed, letting out a jingle, as she danced mindlessly around a dark-haired girl. Jaune named her Lilium; a name befitting of her, considering the flower she continued to hold even now. He never was good with names. She was rather reserved, her mannerisms refined yet natural. Her eyes had returned, her ears no longer bled, and she had found her tongue. Her dress had become cleaner, though her body remained to look as fragile as ever.

Lilium sang.

The experiences of life, poured into the voice of a child. The jingling of innocent bliss, all coming from the dancing of a child. A peaceful harmony pleased Jaune's sense of hearing.

All the sorrow had accumulated experience in the child of sadness. Yet, she sang as if she spoke of a tale.

The beauty of the breaking out of sorrow was always overlooked in favor of mindless joy.

He remembered feeling sad about ten thousand billion times in his life. Sounds like a lot? No. The extent of sadness determined how much impact it left within a person. Taking some examples, a child becoming sad over dropping his or her present about a thousand times could not equal to the forceful taking of a virgin treasure.

The impact sadness left made breaking out of it all the more satisfying.

Everyone deserved to complain. Some just deserved complaining more than others.

Jaune closed his eyes, letting the harmony of the bells and the singing flow into his soul.

Long ago, he used to feel sorrowful over what he would become in the future. But it all seemed like a mere memory that improved his own self in the end. Because he had the right to complain, and he complained, and after hiding his voice for so many years, he spoke out not as the leader of skilled Hunters, but as Jaune Arc. He had realized what he wanted to be, and it was not just to be Jaune Arc.

He wanted to be Jaune Arc, a man whose ambitions were aimed not to gain power, but to protect the value of life.

And all of a sudden, he began anticipating every day to come. The sorrow he thought to have made him a coward actually triggered an emotion locked in his memories for more than ten simple years.

He wanted to become what he thought and said he would become; a reliable and relevant human being. And now that was his dream.

Jaune smirked as he slowly opened his eyes, the nudging of Bell waking him up from his train of thoughts. The girl continued to glow brightly as she smiled at him, her sky-blue eyes shining every time she poked him. As Jaune sat up, he saw the dark-haired child singing. She sang, her eyes closed as she kept the white flower close to her heart.

She sang without words. Jaune could hear no words leaving her, but rather, the core of her spirit.

A spirit filled with hope.

As she sang, the aurora brightened, and the night stars glowed brighter. A series of comets flew across as the glowing feathers left in the air followed them slowly.

Jaune preferred a coward with redeeming intentions over a brave-hearted soul with no intentions in helping people up. As he tries to overcome his lack of bravery, he would make sure to keep his mind straight like the man he wanted to be.

For the serenity of others.

To those he treasured the most, and to those he can help out the most.

The short night of harmony reigned for what felt like an eternity.

...

...

...

 _The Second Night -END-_


	6. The Third Day - Annihilation

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _But not all emotions were innocent or mature_

 _For some were not impure and childish_

 _And dominated a great portion_

 _Of the Human Mind._

 _Because wherever intelligent thoughts were_

 _Roamed the thoughts full of flaws and holes._

 _Like an imperfect factory that had room for improvement_

 _The Human Mind always had room for change._

 _And although change is considered to be_

 _One of the strangest and most feared thoughts of all_

 _It was absolutely necessary to confront_

 _Any habits and desires that harmed those around oneself._

 _To hate with a hatred greater than hatred itself_

 _Or to love with a love greater than love itself._

 _No one but oneself can decide on picking a side…_

* * *

 _Chapter 6_

 _The Third Day_

* * *

Jaune stood in front of a rusty door.

After spending a peaceful second night in a doubtful afterlife, the blond found a door sitting in the midst of a blue flowerbed. It had gained plenty of rust on its entire structure, so the knight had to smash the knob to open the door. Since he was not a strong knight, it took him several tries to pry the thing open.

He opened the door, finding a long hallway that led to another door.

Strange.

It seemed that these dreams really did have some sort of chronological order to them. Jaune had first encountered Bell, a mindlessly happy child, before meeting Lilium, a child who overcame an overwhelming sadness with his help.

If he was meeting these children, perhaps there would be someone else waiting for him within the dark hallway?

He had the choice of either staying in this paradise or exploring the depths of an unknown world. Deciding to overcome his own problems, Jaune had affirmed himself to go through any trials and tribulations that could get in his way.

After all, Bell seemed extremely curious as to what the dark hallway contained. Lilium frowned and inched behind Jaune, covering her white flower in case something popped out of the dark area and tried to hurt it. The blond did not know why the flower had begun to glow, but it did. And it did so in a fashion similar to Bell's glowing. It had a tinge of yellow compared to Bell's white-bluish light.

Without a warning, Bell suddenly left Jaune's side and ran into the hallway.

"…! Hey, wait!"

Taken aback by how the glowing girl jumped into the hallway first, Jaune mustered up his pride as a manly man(?) and walked into the hallway as well. Okay, he may not be manly, but he aspired to be manly. That alone was enough of a reason to march into a dark hallway he never saw before.

Or maybe it wasn't.

Regardless of his thoughts, he followed Bell. He heard the peaceful and innocent bells chiming throughout the cramped hallway full of rusted walls. A single lightbulb stuck to the dirty ceiling.

And a strange smell of oil caused Jaune to cringe in disgust. It felt as if he just jumped into an uncleaned factory.

Lilium stuck closer to Jaune as he followed Bell, who eventually halted in front of the end of the hallway. Another door stood in front of the three.

Jaune turned around and- much to his expectations- found the door he came from to be missing. Realizing that the three could not turn back, Lilium stuck even closer to the blond knight.

The idea of fearful children around him made Jaune somewhat wary of his surroundings. As strange and untouchable they seemed, he did not want to see anything bad happening to them.

Jaune took several steps forward and reached for the door knob. Much to his surprise, the knob had not rusted, allowing him to open the door smoothly. Taking a deep breath, the blond opened the door.

He was right. The new location he found himself really was a factory.

He did not expect, however, what kind of factory it would have been.

Blood trickled into thousands of transparent pipes placed within a gigantic room, the bodies of people lying here and there. Those who had their blood drained were separated of their heads, each of which were equipped with some sort of metallic plating before being attached to empty suits of armor. People were being used to fill in whatever was being built.

The factory itself functioned in a chaotic order. Nothing felt right; everything felt out of place. Jaune could not understand why such a room existed. He felt his blood cool… before boiling at an immense degree as he reached for his sword. He had not used the weapon ever since he came into the afterlife, but indeed, he did have it. Though he could not have used such a pathetic weapon against supernatural entities such as the ones he encountered in the mansion, perhaps it could have some use in a technological area like a factory.

As he delved deeper into the factory, he discovered that the suits of armor equipped with helmets were sent onto a conveyor belt. In fact, there were so many conveyer belts in the factory. Too many conveyer belts, too many people. But before his blood boiled and made him act irrationally, the blond knight saw something that made him pale.

Cardin Winchester, a student who had toyed around with his life, was among the bodies that were about to be torn into two.

He watched as the auburn-haired boy joined the legion of lifeless machines as he was sent down another conveyor belt. And then the blond realized something.

All of these people.

All of these people were familiar.

He saw Cardin's lackeys joining the metallic legion, then some people who caused pain to his father. And his sisters. And his mother. Everyone who had made his entire family filled with nothing but despair and rage. And soon, Cardin popped up again, and everything seemed to loop by the time Jaune completely realized what this factory actually was.

 _Why,_ he thought in horror. But it was only natural. A coward had so much to hide, one of them being the entirety of his emotions. Within said emotions lay a lack of maturity that described every single bit of his impressions on others' flaws. He had completely forgotten his ability to become enraged…

So why was this place so violent? Gruesome?

Did he really want all of these people to die?

Was this what he really wanted to happen to them?

And it disgusted him how joyful he initially felt when he saw Cardin to be among these people. Naturally, people had disgusting traits of their own. Their redeeming feature was the ability to feel guilt for such hatred.

Yet, he was unable to feel guilt. Instead, he felt a rage growing within him.

"How…"

Bell's bright demeanor had vanished, her eyes widening at the sight of death. She then let out a sad chime, covering her eyes with her feathery arms as she hid behind Jaune. Lilium teared up at the sight of death all around them, and she shivered when Bell threw her arms around her neck and buried her glowing face into her shoulder. The two children of joy and sorrow trembled before the might of raw anger. They wanted to do something, but all they could do was wait for something to happen.

Then, something approached them.

A metallic figure that did not look similar to the people being encompassed with armor appeared. It walked towards Jaune from afar, its complex armor structure intimidating the blond. The armor itself already looked deadly enough, but what caught Jaune off guard was the sheer lack of humanity within its mask. The short orange ponytail on the back of its head made the figure look as if it were on fire, its pitch-red visor giving it an even less human look.

It continued walking towards the Arc. As it continued walking, it generated two blades of cyan plasma.

Jaune then realized the newcomer was hostile.

"Go back," Jaune told Bell and Lilium, both of them trembling at the sight of a dangerous figure. "Now!"

The essences of joy and sorrow softly ran towards the hallway they had initially come from and closed the door. Jaune turned to ensure they had shut the door before facing his foe again.

Where there was joy, there was anger.

How did the words ring so true?

Gritting his teeth, Jaune Arc took out his shield, completing the Corcea Mors stance he donned ever since he joined the acclaimed Beacon Academy.

The double-bladed figure's eyes sparked a deathly red as it began to run towards the knight, its blades clearly designed to cut down those that opposed its cause.

Without any room for second thoughts, Jaune roared as he charged towards the menace of the factory.

…

…

…

 _The Third Day - END-_


	7. The Third Day (2) - Destruction

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _Chapter 7_

 _The Third Day (2)_

* * *

Jaune Arc was not the strongest man in the world. He was the polar opposite of "powerful," in fact. He knew how to swing a sword, but the only things he had actually dealt with were the monsters known as "the Grimm." He fought monsters and even trained specifically to fight monsters. Never did he ever think about fighting something humanoid.

So the idea of fighting a person frightened him. The idea of taking a sentient life away from the world scared him to death. Again, he was a coward in many ways. But perhaps his cowardice in killing was the most justified among his long list of fears. A deliberate action to eternally end the story of another sounded far too painful for him to handle.

He enjoyed thinking from others' perspectives and making books out of them. If the books happened to be inaccurate, then he would make revisions to them. Through trial and error, he was able to solidify the stories of others around him, thus letting him relate to them better. He found it fascinating; to find that not everyone's stories were not like his, and how his was one-of-a-kind like any other story.

To forcefully end such stories were far out of Jaune's mind.

Yet, somehow, he felt like destroying this machine. This machine that resembled a person's body structure. Perhaps the sleek helmet that resembled anything but a human's face motivated Jaune to use his own adrenaline to fight it.

The blond knight fought with an incredibly defensive stance due to his lack of offense. As the machine swung one of its blades at his torso, Jaune leaned away from the blade's direction and ducked, his sword close by his chest. As soon as the hateful machine swung its other blade as if it were trying to cleave Jaune apart, the knight raised his shield and moved underneath the blade as it skidded across durable metal. Jaune twisted his body as he saw the machine preparing to strike from a new direction.

As the blade came down vertically, Jaune grit his teeth and threw his knee against the elbow of his shield arm. The powerful shield let the blade slide away from Jaune himself, and the knight soon found his chance to strike. Jaune Arc relentlessly slashed at the machine's torso.

 _Clang_ , went the machine's magnificent steel.

Jaune cursed the machine for its durable armor. His foe backed off and remained still for what felt like an eternity. His eyes shined briefly, as if to anger the knight. But Jaune knew that this was anything but a person; whatever the machine did, it did not resemble a person. It did not resemble a person. It barely resembled a person. It barely did…

And yet, Jaune felt like obliterating it as if it were a person.

His anger grew as he could hear the screams of those who have hurt him once. It was not fair. If they die, then so did his efforts to avoid death in the first place.

The knight readied himself as the machine charged forward once more. It slashed at Jaune endlessly, this time giving no room for the blond to retaliate. Frustration grew within Jaune as the blows became harder and harder against his shield. Fed up with the non-stop attacks sent by the machine, the knight forcefully pushed his shield against an incoming attack as he swung his sword at his bloodless opponent.

Sparks flew across the air. He hit a vital point.

The machine returned to attack Jaune once more. This time, it attacked in a formulated pattern. Caught off guard by the machine's change of strategy, Jaune felt one of the blades stab his stomach. He felt the blade protrude out of his back, but the knight grit his teeth and dealt with the pain. Because all he wanted to do was tear apart the machine out of sheer anger and frustration. The knight stabbed the machine's chest over and over again as his enemy lifted him into the air. After getting attacked multiple times by the knight, the machine threw Jaune across the factory.

The world went white.

And then it went black.

* * *

Red covered his vision. He felt it. He could feel himself about to drown in his own anger. The anger that prevented him from moving on. This anger of his drove him insane. For what felt like a millennia, Jaune drifted across a red river within a black world. The river trickled down the darkness, its color unaffected by the lack of light in the area. Jaune floated down the red line, his body drenched with the essence of anger itself. He could not see his reflection, but he heard laughing.

Laughs directed _at_ him.

And the screaming and the hating and the whining. He heard the voices of many testing his patience to its fullest extent. It grew. He could see his hatred now. Within the darkness above him, a giant eye fluttered open as it stared down at him. Its red pupil turned into a mouth, laughing at him, as he drifted down the red line that slowly expanded. The river became a lake, and the lake turned into a whirlpool of lethal thoughts.

Suicide. Revenge.

Even he had thought of such things sometimes. No matter how much he tried to hide such thoughts, in the end, Jaune was presented his most disgusting self. The eye above him melted, its remains turning blood red as each drop made the whirlpool run faster. Jaune felt his body tearing apart. His limbs went numb. Where the eye once was lay a giant heart, beating fast. And it beat faster as the whirlpool continued to speed up. The heart began to bleed as Jaune's anger grew. What was the point of his anger? Why was he angry? Why did he need to be angry?

Did he have any right to be angry?

The hatred bled more and more out of the heart, and the large organ stretched unnaturally. Jaune screamed as he realized how unfair people had been to him, regardless of his circumstances. And soon, he had no mouth to scream, and all that was left was his mind soaring across the whirlpool.

The heart above his remains burst into an explosion of white. The whiteness surrounded the whirlpool, and soon, Jaune found himself laying still in an empty world once more.

Emptiness. The result of anger prevailing over oneself.

Jaune felt empty.

In the end, revenge was wrong.

To replace one's own dreams with a dream to end other dreams was to turn oneself into a monster. To contort one's own sense of reality without consulting help from anything around him or her…

It was a selfish and impatient thing to do.

No. He still had a chance to prevent the monstrous dream from coming true.

Jaune got up, the ground beneath him pitch-black. His body had a linear pale yellow color to it. He looked up.

A figure of red stood far away from him. The figure resembled that of the machine he faced earlier in the factory.

So this was it.

The machine was himself all along. His own hatred, waiting to explode. And Jaune himself had to become the light for the dark path of disintegrating his anger.

* * *

The light stood up, the hatred standing far away from it. Soon, the figure of red walked towards the yellow man. Nothing but anger and second thoughts stood in the plane of existence.

The figure of absolute red took out its armblades. No blue color shone from it; only a dull black color appeared. Meanwhile, the figure of pale yellow prepared its sword and shield. Only four colors existed in the plane of existence: nothingness, the end of nothingness, anger, and redemption.

The light attacked first, no longer afraid of the hatred. It swung its black blade at its bright-red adversary, which leaned back before charging forward. Having anticipated the counter-attack much earlier, the pale yellow figure raised its solid-yellow shield by its side. Sparks of white emitted between one of the figure's black blades and the immovable shield.

Without any hesitation, the figure of red swept one of its feet at the ground, only to have the light jump over it. The pale yellow figure slashed at the hatred as it descended, finally stopping the once unstoppable anger. The figure with the sword and shield charged forward and slashed at the figure of red. When hatred barely deflected the yellow figure's attack, the wielder of the sword and shield immediately spun around and slashed vigorously at the hatred. It slashed over and over and over and over and over again. Red spewed out of the hatred as its own color splattered across the black ground.

Then, the world turned red.

Everything went red. Only the small yellow figure was left. The black and the white had vanished. Anger. Overwhelming anger.

The light twisted its body as it raised its shield, deflecting a blade of black that attempted to ambush him from the endless area of red. The yellow wielder of the sword and shield turned again. Raising its shield once more, sparks of white flew across the red air and landed on the once invisible ground.

The light remained still as it waited for any more attacks.

Silence took over.

The white sparks remained still on the ground. The wielder of the sword and shield remained still. Red still remained everywhere. Red.

The red of hatred.

For it was anything other than hatred, then the red would have resembled something more delicate. It would have been red like roses. But rather than roses, hatred dominated the air around the figure of redemption.

Silence remained dominant.

Silence.

Nothing.

Void.

Breathless.

Soundless.

Lifeless

and deathless.

A speck of red overlapped the white sparks on the ground. The figure of pale yellow immediately raised its sword.

The knight of redemption threw the blade towards the spark's direction.

* * *

The machine Jaune Arc had been hunting all this time had finally been caught. Caught off-guard by the sword being thrown towards itself, the essence of hatred itself propelled towards an iron bar that lay within an unfinished part of the factory. The many bars of iron and the end of solid ground indicated how unfinished the factory was.

The machine twitched erratically as it reached for the Arc's blade, which lay pierced through the very center of its chest. But alas, the battle had ended as soon as Jaune's patience trumped his own anger. Its eyes shimmered as the furious light behind it slowly died.

Jaune Arc walked to his once dangerous foe. The machine let out a massive amount of sparks from the gaps between its limbs as its energy faded. The once furiously red visor had become empty and black. The machine had become nothing but a mere memory.

The blond knight walked across an iron beam as he stopped in front of the machine. Immature as it may have been, the essence of anger influenced negative emotions the most. But learning how to overcome anger could have been the key to becoming wiser.

Jaune knew that. He just had to remember it.

Reaching out for his blade, the knight grabbed his weapon and tore it out of the machine. No longer nailed to the iron bar behind it, the machine slumped over and fell off of the thin platform, falling into an endless pit of nothingness.

The road of experience may not seem forgiving, but in the end, anger taught many how to be strong. All that was needed to deal with anger was time.

A bit of time and dedication.

It was as simple as it seemed.

…

…

…

 _The Third Day (2) -END-_


	8. The Third Night - Ignis

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _The anger within him let him realize_

 _The importance of_

 _Maturity and integrity._

 _For the maturity controlled him_

 _From acting rashly and selfishly._

 _It let him have second thoughts_

 _And reconsider his own morals._

 _For the integrity allowed him_

 _To be honest and open-minded._

 _It let him show his thoughts_

 _With courage and steel will._

 _Within anger lied the key to honesty._

* * *

 _Chapter 8_

 _The Third Night_

* * *

Jaune Arc's eyes slowly cracked open.

The factory was no more. All had vanished. Instead of the iron ceiling that spread across the machinery-filled room, several wooden logs appeared before him.

The factory. The machine.

Cardin.

Bell.

Lilium.

Jaune bolted up from the bed sheets that covered his body. He took a good look at himself. The battle was not an illusion; it had happened. His armor and clothes were torn and scratched at. The gloves were torn, with Jaune's healthy skin showing underneath them.

So he had overcome the hateful machine.

The thought of death would never become commonplace to him. He had heard and seen of it. Death was a plague that coexisted with life. So whenever he thought of murder, his consciousness of death only grew. It made him feel hateful. It made him feel useless and outraged. It made him want to break out of his school and hunt down those who thought so little of life and haul them into an eternal prison. The pressure of it all angered him.

But he knew how much he hated the idea of taking away another's life. Yet, there were some cases where people would want to end their own lives. "There is no value," they say, but no, they were wrong. Everyone was different from one another. A cliché? No, that statement was not a cliché, but a fact. Some take their own lives due to the world becoming "boring," but the world could never be boring if everyone was different from one another. Something always riled other things up; that much was common sense.

Some take their own lives due to being unable to bear the pressure of trivial matters. Some take their own lives due to being unable to handle the torment of harassment.

They had no hope.

Jaune Arc had realized that he was not useless. He knew he had meaning, he just sought out to know what it exactly was. But through joy, he entered a state of calmness where he could ponder about sadness. His thorough self-analysis allowed him to find his honest self within the malicious undertones of his anger.

He brought down the mighty machine- a hardship everyone had to defeat- to discover more about himself.

Jaune calmed down. His breathing collectively gained a steady pace, his eyes staring aimlessly at his hands. As reality settled in, his hands clenched in fists of both anger and motivation. If he had so many thoughts plaguing his mind, he would not give up to some trivial matter that could trigger a fuse of insanity within him. He would work tirelessly to put a fitting end to these thoughts of malice before they ended him.

Before he could be honest with others, he needed to become honest with himself.

He did not know how much time passed. So when he felt something nudge his shoulder, his train of thoughts halted as he stopped clenching his fists.

A child of fire stood next to him. The fire blazed and lit the room with a warm color, yet none of the wood around her was set on fire. Her eyes glowed a bright orange as a small grin entered her fiery features.

She leapt on his bed and poked his forehead.

The child began poking relentlessly at Jaune Arc, who just woke up from fighting a demented machine of hatred and violence.

"…? Wha- Hey!"

As Jaune waved the child off, the girl leapt off the bed and laughed. Her voice was that of a piano's, her laughter resembling the mashing of high-pitch keys. Satisfied, the child of fire turned to his sword and shield, both of which leaned against one of the log cabin's walls.

She picked the sword up and started swinging it around aimlessly.

"That's dangerous!" Jaune warned as he got off the bed sheets. As soon as he spoke, the child of fire jumped and stopped swinging the sword, staring at Jaune with wide eyes. She turned to the blade, then to Jaune.

Puffing her cheeks out, the child of fire put the sword at where it once leaned against before shouting out a bunch of loud and incoherent keys. She then stood still, crossing her arms with an annoyed look.

 _This kid…_

Jaune sighed as he walked over to Crocea Mors, his sword and shield. Turning his shield into a sheath for the blade, he strapped it by his waist. The girl of fire remained still, an annoyed look still on her face. She looked away from Jaune.

An honest and immature child.

Ignis.

If Jaune were to become a father, he would not be a good one. He realized this as soon as he took out his trusty weapon and handed it to the child. After all, she did not seem to have any intentions in killing him. Jaune also believed he had nothing to lose anyway.

Her face brightening at the sight of the blade, Ignis took it. Her open smile was enough to show her satisfaction as she inspected the weapon out of fascination. She did not swing the weapon, though; that already got her shouted at. Jaune looked through one of the windows within the log cabin. Outside the cabin was an endlessly snowy world.

Bell built a snowman with Lilium. The dark-haired child held onto her dear flower with one hand as she picked up snow with the other. Meanwhile, the child of joy went nuts with completing the snowman. The jingling of bells echoed across the snowy field of endlessness.

Jaune wondered if the world he was in actually had an end to it.

…

…

…

 _The Third Night -END-_


	9. The Fourth Day - Road

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _And among these emotions_

 _Lay the most complex of all._

 _Seemingly greater than joy_

 _More mysterious than sorrow_

 _And more often fueled_

 _With an adrenaline bigger than anger._

 _It seemed larger than life at times_

 _But at times it seemed nonexistent._

 _Like a dream_

 _It sways once in a while_

 _And like a dream_

 _It can fade quite easily._

 _But the truest emotion_

 _Will never fade._

 _And neither will it bring_

 _Haunt and ruin_

 _To a person in love._

* * *

 _Chapter 9_

 _The Fourth Day_

* * *

…

…

…

Jaune Arc wondered if he was loved.

He knew he built a circle of trust back at his home. He built several circles, actually. They taught him how to be happy, be sad, and be angry. Every circle had its moments, but it always maintained a perfect round shape in the end. He could not deny that he never learned what love really was.

His parents tried to teach him. It only grew his confusion. His sisters tried to teach him. It grew his confusion even further. And when he fell in love, he questioned whether he was actually in love or not. For love brought too many emotions at once. It brought squabbles, chatters, and tears of mourning. The breaking of love brought just as many emotions as the eternal bonding of love did. Love was not just an emotion, but an expression as well. It was a form of affection that came in a variety of ways. Jaune did not know how it did, however.

What was love, exactly? Again, he did not know, but he knew it was not something that one could answer immediately. It took many forms, after all.

The blond knight walked down a dirt road, passing by lush gatherings of trees and flowers. A harmony of bells and piano keys softly filled the serene forest. A small, fragile voice hummed behind the audacious instruments that spread through the forest like a virus.

Bell jerked away from Ignis before floating towards the child of fire, poking her waist. Ignis flinched and jumped back before hopping over to the child of light, poking her back. They both let out light chimes and keys as they laughed. Lilium hummed, softly shielding her flower incase the other children crashed into her.

Jaune sighed as he called out for the tenth time, "Don't get too rough on the dirt."

Bell seemed fine with complying with Jaune's advice, but Ignis begged to differ. Grinning mischievously, the child of fire pounced on the child of light, who had turned to Jaune's direction. They both laughed and picked themselves up. As if Jaune had never spoken to them, they began poking at each other.

And Lilium continued to hum, softly shielding her flower as she walked alongside the knight.

Jaune believed that love was not infinite. And maybe it wasn't. There were so many stories about the breaking of love. Said stories existed since the beginning of time, based on how it seemed like a universal trait every living thing had. But he knew that when love was present, it could overwhelm a life that had seen little to no love.

Again, he knew he did not know much about love. After all, if he did, he would not repeatedly think that he did not know what it was.

It certainly was intriguing to think about. He knew that all men and women who claimed that they were uninterested in romance at the slightest extent were liars. It was a natural ability to love something, someone- anything and anyone. Love was different from hatred in the sense that one had to handpick what he or she hated. _How far did love go, then?_ He wondered thoughtfully.

Breaking himself of his train of thoughts, Jaune glanced at Lilium. Lilium continued to hum, softly shielding the white flower she had given him. His eyes shifted their gaze on her flower.

The humming subsided, and Jaune soon noticed that the girl had turned to him. Parts of her long black hair shielded her right eye, but her left eye clearly had its gaze set on him.

She glanced at her flower, then at Jaune. A nervous look entered her once idle expression.

Jaune cracked a small smile as he pet the nervous child's head. "I'm not taking it," he said. Lilium nodded slowly as he brought his hand away from her.

She smiled as some of her tension faded.

A white flower. The dark-haired child loved the white flower. It had a special meaning to her. Jaune considered how love did not always apply to people. A source of love had the potential to bring people out of complex emotions, but in return, introduced new emotions that only love could bring. It was strange. Every emotion that love brought felt so similar to the ones he felt every day, but something felt slightly different.

Ignis was greedy, but honest. She loved finding new things and played with them. She also found it great to vent her anger on random things around her, whether it be the ground, a random tree, or even Jaune himself. She loved being free from responsibility. She loved doing things that brought her away from things uninteresting to her.

Bell loved joy. If someone smiled, then she would smile. If someone wanted to play with her, she would play with them. She loved the concept of happiness, and also served as physical proof for it. Her smiling had meaning behind them. They were full of life.

Life.

Jaune loved life.

Did other people love life?

As a new question floated weightlessly in his head, the knight perked up at the sight of a city.

A city?

From a forest to a city?

Now that he took a closer look, the dirt road blended unnaturally with the asphalt that led to the city. There were no signs of people in the large world of manmade structures. And strangely enough, the sky was pitch-white. The white sky brightened the dull city. He doubted that there could be something he loved there.

But who was he to care? He was a weak knight who was propelled into a world he did not know of. He now doubted he was in an afterlife. Perhaps he was in a very, very peculiar dream.

As soon as Bell's eyes shined at the sight of a city, Jaune Arc knew he was in for another strange experience.

…

…

…

 _The Fourth Day -END-_


	10. The Fourth Day (2) - Love

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _Chapter 10_

 _The Fourth Day (2)_

* * *

…

…

…

An empty city had quite a lot to offer.

Jaune Arc walked down the asphalt layered over the streets, observing his surroundings as three children followed him. Rust had yet to taint the street lights, and none of the buildings looked dusty. In fact, the entire place looked clean for something that had no people to manage it.

While the cleanness of his surroundings intrigued him, the emptiness certainly killed the charm behind cities. He was in a ghost city that had neither aged nor advanced from its time.

Empty.

Would the world really feel this empty if every person had vanished? Jaune could not decide whether the missing presence of humans would do the world good or bad. After all, people were, in the end, only a bit different when it came to emotions. They all needed their own kind to survive without being driven by loneliness and an enormous feeling of emptiness. No doubt would Jaune be one of those people if he felt that the world centered on him.

It was strange. People needed people to live; similarly to how the Grimm needed to live in packs to survive longer. Unlike the Grimm, people were able to love.

Anything besides the Grimm were able to feel love.

Jaune reached out for a nearby fire hydrant as he walked. He touched its smooth texture, once again confirming that the city was an abnormal existence. It seemed as if nothing was dusty, rusty, or worn-out.

Bell chimed as she picked up an apple from the ground. Walking over to Jaune, the child held the apple up to his face with her feathery arms.

Jaune blinked as he made a small smile. The blond knight took the apple from the child of light as he raised it, lining it in front of his ocean blue eyes. A red apple. It stood out from the empty city. Its vibrancy glowed in the midst of the greyness. It had traces of life in it. Something about it felt alive. Vigorous, almost.

As he continued to observe the apple, his eyes widened as the object slowly broke apart into sakura-colored petals. He looked up as the petals swirled towards the skies. By the time the apple had fully dispersed, the petals reached a certain height as it began swirling around in a full circle. More petals flew from different directions and joined the petals that left Jaune's hands.

He looked down to make sure that no one else was around. Strange; he swore that there were no people in the empty streets. Looking back up, Jaune watched the petals form a large shell as they spun in place.

And soon, the petals brightened and faded, revealing a bright beautiful being floating above the empty city. Jaune felt awe as a warm pink color painted the once grey streets. The being who appeared was the complete opposite of the empty city. She was full of life, full of personality. The white skies suddenly complemented well with the now bright city.

People laughed. Jaune jerked his head back to the streets, finding dozens of people walking together. They smiled and played and enjoyed themselves. Some of them held hands, others cradling their newborn children. From the young to the old, people of all ages and races showed affection to one another. A hidden affection that existed among everyone, no matter how small or big, drove any species to continue living.

Jaune wondered; did he love anyone?

He wondered what it meant to truly love someone. He wondered if it really was possible to love someone not only from his or her looks, but everything about that someone. And perhaps it was possible.

Love seemed to have no formula. For if it was a formula, then no one would be sad because of it. But the breaking of hearts matured people, and the maturity of people made love all the more complex. Jaune realized that he was too young to fully understand how it worked, and that was perfect for him. If he sought out its meaning, and how it applied to him, then he would be a very satisfied person.

To love his family. His friends. Maybe a woman of his dreams. Perhaps romance did not connect to a snowy angel, but to a relatable human being. For what was beautiful but foreign to humans mostly brought fear, and what seemed average but well-understood by people was easy to love.

Maybe being super special was not the answer to finding out what love meant to him.

Jaune watched the lady of love descend, lightly floating to his direction. She glowed brightly, a faint pink emitting from the tip of the light that she shone upon the city. The essence of love. She was not beautiful, but simply magnificent.

He felt a tingling sensation as the bright lady float around him. She blinked, her eyes glowing in a similar fashion to Bell's. Then, with a small volume, she giggled, letting out the plucking of a harp.

As the bright lady grabbed one of the blond knight's hands, the lady of love pointed at an amusement park Jaune had never seen before. The three children that followed him smiled brightly at the sight of a huge park.

Time seemed to tick endlessly that day.

…

…

…

 _The Fourth Day (2) -END-_


	11. The Fourth Night - Liebe

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _It represented the god quite well_

 _For his emotions were not limited to just one bell._

 _He did not just feel boiling anger_

 _And he did not just feel eternal sorrow._

 _He felt_

 _Love._

 _Every inch of his existence knew it_

 _For he knew he was loved_

 _And he knew he loved_

 _And he knew he has_

 _Would_

 _Could_

 _And will love._

 _Because it was impossible not to_

 _And that alone made sentient life_

 _A true blessing._

* * *

 _Chapter 11_

 _The Fourth Night_

* * *

…

…

…

Love changed Jaune and the millions of other people around him.

Jaune found himself sitting on a bench in the midst of a flashy carnival. The white skies had gone pitch-black. People cheered as street performers brought unique entertainment, food stall owners moved at a lightning-speed pace, and everyone became preoccupied with something. Even Jaune, who did nothing but stare at the carnival in the entirety of its disorderly beauty.

Children screamed their way down the streets with magnificent lightworks in their hands, the elderly watching them as they shared mildly amusing conversations. But despite looking so normal, Jaune found the carnival to be quite a beautiful thing.

A conglomeration of people. One would be a blunt liar if he or she claimed that meeting other people did not feel exciting, regardless of whether said excitement was in a negative or positive connotation. Love sprouted when things were together, after all.

From birth, it took a baby to learn how to become a proper child more than several months. From childhood, it took a child more than several years to become a proper adult. From adulthood, it took an adult to learn how the children of their generation functioned.

Love never changed, however.

It remained persistent. It grew, but its essence never transformed into something crazy or boring. Love was not superfluous; it was a part of all sentient things.

The thought of him falling in a love he could understand sounded strange… But the more he thought about it, the more he could relate to something like love.

To him, the idea of meeting a girl his age was sweet. It meant all kinds of things, but the most important thing it meant was the very idea of keeping her by his side for him to become happier. And if the girl felt the same way, then it meant more kinds of things.

And though love may sometimes feel like a responsibility than an ability, in the end, it ultimately rewarded people with so many emotions. Though sometimes times would become hard, and though the future might end up looking darker than a thunderstorm's clouds, and though everything might seem like a burden more than anything-

-In the end, the love of living made people press on.

And the love of others made said people press on.

And the very act of falling in love made said people press on.

He could picture it. Though he did not know who he would end up falling in love with, he could see the wrinkles slowly forming on their faces. And as time marches on, more and more wrinkles would form, and a deeper understanding of life would be seen through his and the woman's eyes. They would come to understand each other so well.

And as the last of wrinkles form, their humanity would reach completion. The human nature was all about improvement, after all. In the end, if he moved on to the life next door, he would turn to his wife, who had become as wrinkled as he had become.

And all of the happy memories they spent together would become something more than a treasure.

Jaune smiled. He truly did want to experience a love life, but he doubted it would come during his days as a knight-in-training.

Fireworks broke him out of his train of thoughts. His eyes widened as a series of fireworks lit the once pitch-black skies. A variety of colors painted the chalkboard above him.

 _A variety of colors…_

Under a trance of fascination, the knight stood up from the bench he had been sitting on.

All of a sudden, the mixture of colors looked amazing to him.

As he stared at the bright art above him, he felt warmth embrace his hand. He turned to his side and found the lady of love, who smiled at him. Jaune smiled as he turned back to the skies she had made.

It seemed like she wanted to teach him something very valuable and had succeeded.

Love. Liebe.

Liebe turned to the skies as she slowly embraced the knight's arm. Not out of romantic interest, but out of pure affection. And Jaune did not mind, because the fireworks shined brighter than they used to.

…

…

…

 _The Fourth Night -END-_


	12. The Fifth Day - Hope

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _Once upon a time- a time cast away-_

 _A lonely god lost his way._

 _The memories he cherished_

 _Had become all but bland._

 _The emotions he treasured_

 _Had become all but naught._

 _So one day, on a bright day,_

 _He left the world on a journey_

 _To seek out the feelings that had_

 _Become all but history._

 _In the five days and five nights_

 _Of hard thinking and recollection,_

 _He rediscovered his emotions:_

 _Joy, Gloom, Hate, and Love._

 _They were four feelings he had come to long._

 _With joy he felt bliss and happiness,_

 _With gloom he felt a sorrow that made him thoughtful._

 _With hate he was able to reflect upon himself,_

 _With love he shared his affection with wishes to share._

 _These four feelings were colorful_

 _And defined who he was._

 _These four feelings defined conscience;_

 _A gift given to a blessed few out of centillions._

* * *

 _Chapter 11_

 _The Fifth Day_

* * *

Everything was no longer void.

Wherever Jaune laid his feet upon, dozens of colorful life greeted him. Some things finally felt human for once. Walking down a dirt road on a hill of golden grass, Jaune smiled as he nodded in response to a young couple that passed by him.

Everything felt lively.

Yet it somehow did not feel completely human.

Maybe that was alright.

He had encountered four colorful entities that reminded him of his own traits. He learned, he adapted. He felt like he knew more about himself. He felt like he just knew more in general.

It would have been a lie if he said that he did not like how things were.

Some things were missing though.

Things like friends.

Things like his family members.

Things that were irreplaceable not by blood but by memories.

He had to admit, he was pretty selfish in a weird way if he wanted a life that brought him more problems to solve instead of a life without problems. But the life he had with his team members, his family…

His loved ones…

A bubbly friend filled with a childish spirit, a quiet friend with admirable patience, an honorable friend with a habit of encouraging others.

Countless of other faces that he did not mind meeting more than once, even if they were not exactly close to him. Inspirational figures that inspired him to stay strong were people he wanted to meet in person more than once, twice, or thrice. And even then, the greatest of people had faults to them, and that made them all the more colorful.

Faults.

Some of the most unique quirks present to mankind.

The ability to be human was supported by the development of emotions. Despite having experienced a progression of maturity- if he did, that was- in the strange world, Jaune Arc did not feel that he deserved to be a part of a perfect world. He wanted to help people in a world that needed amendments. He wanted to help at least little by little.

He wanted to go back.

He wanted to go back…

Back to the people he could share his emotions with. Back to the people who could share their emotions with him.

He wanted to go home.

As a multitude of thoughts sprouted to life in his head, the world around him slowly vanished. The perfect world; it was a world that he needed to be able to deserve first.

The thought of it exhilarated him. Then, it calmed him.

Four nights had come to an end. Joy, sorrow, anger, love. He decided to drive his determination against all odds. The colorful and distinct experiences he went through filled him with- if not a lot- quite a bit of confidence in understanding himself better.

The world turned into an endless skyfield. Light blue surrounded him as his body remained still in the air, his eyes staring off at the infinitely wide world of air and life the naked eye was unable to comprehend and see. His mind stopped thinking in a complex fashion, and suddenly, he felt as if everything was going on the right path.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And he waited for seconds, minutes, and hours.

Because he was filled with hope.

…

…

…

 _The Fifth Day –END-_


	13. The Fifth Night - END

**Five Arabian Nights**

* * *

 _Chapter 12_

 _The Fifth Night_

* * *

…

…

…

Jaune lay still in the middle of pure white, his light armor battered and dented.

He had been there before. And again, he felt at peace. He knew it was normal of him to like the silence around him. It was something he longed for, after all.

But perhaps it was never meant to stay with him for a long time.

This time, no clouds surrounded him. A blank sheet was the best description he could have given on the world around him. All the people and towns, and all the flowers and skies… None of them were present anymore.

Something had turned into nothing.

The blond knight opened his eyes.

It all felt strange- strange like the first time he entered the limbo-like state he initially experienced. No cold, no warmth. A perfect equilibrium had been matched in where he lay still. He had neither the will to move nor the actual ability to move; his body refused to do anything, and his mind was too occupied to think about moving.

Slowly, the world transitioned into a vibrant red. Then it went ocean blue, then green, then orange and so on forth. A wide array of colors enveloped the once blank surroundings that enveloped Jaune Arc. All the memories he had in the real world had flooded back into him. He knew that the world he lay still in was a figment of some sort, but he could tell that not all of it belonged to his own imagination. Some of it felt too real, some of it felt too surreal for him to think up by himself.

Colors flowed, emotions settled.

Then, an eternal sheet of darkness covered the slideshow of colors.

A bright blue light glowed into existence, its mere presence making Jaune feel warm and hopeful. A pure white light formed meekly, its appearance filling the gap between the knight's innocence and sense of reality. A furious orange light ignited within the darkness, reminding Jaune of the sense of maturity he may be able to develop from his immaturities. A soft orchid pink light bloomed to life, granting the knight a privilege to strenuously train complex mixtures of emotions.

Four lights surrounded Jaune Arc. Liebe emerged from the bloom of soft pink light, wrapping her arms around him out of affection. The feeling of affection spread across his nerves like a virus. The being of pure love shined brightly as she vanished, leaving behind a trail of flower petals as she returned to her light.

Ignis spiraled out of her light like a rocket, stopping right next to Jaune as she nudged him with a wide and confident grin. His confidence in controlling the adolescence within him and expressing more of his own maturity rose a bit, an orange set of flames enveloping his body harmlessly. The being of anger and snap judgements vanished and left behind a small eruption of fire, trailing back to her light like a rocket.

Lilium approached Jaune as she timidly walked out of her light, carrying the flower he had given to her. A soft glow surrounded her hands as she created a copy of the flower composed of a spiritual entity. As she handed it to Jaune, the flower shined as it seemingly washed his once-battered armor. The being of sorrow and purity silently returned to her light, leaving behind patches of lilies floating idly in the air.

As the three lights floated away, only one remained. It was the first light he met in the world.

Jaune watched Bell hop out of her light, letting out excited jingles of her bell. She hopped mindlessly to his direction, an open smile forming on her glowing face as she eventually came to a stop in front of him. The blond knight smiled back as he reached out to ruffle the hair of the joyful child.

She giggled, letting out a beautifully innocent series of chimes and rings.

A bright blue light surrounded him as his body was lifted a bit higher. As the light began to intensify, Jaune took one last look at Bell, who had stayed by his side for the entirety of his rough, but meaningful visit in the dreamy world.

For Bell was like happiness; it clung closely to anybody at all times if they held hope to love, live, and learn.

Bell let out one last chime as she waved at Jaune Arc with her small feathery arms. The Arc's eyes softened as he told her,

"Thanks."

The entity of joy bounced up and down as she endlessly waved at Jaune Arc. Soon, the light enveloped his entire body.

He was now sure of it.

His understanding of himself reflected how, what, and why he would be able to help others stand through times of lacking confidence and troubling moments in life.

He was no wise man.

He was no knight.

But perhaps being a wise man or a knight was not the only way to be someone's savior.

It was the most truthful of things that mattered in the end.

* * *

 _ＴＨＥ ＥＮＤ_


End file.
